


The Homestead

by Wagontrain



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:12:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wagontrain/pseuds/Wagontrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the threat of Alduin and Miraak passed, the Dragonborn settles a homestead even as Lydia strains against the quiet life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Homestead

“Well? What do you think?”

Lydia looked around the area. It was a decent enough spot, a ways north west of Morthal but close enough that the merchants could probably be convinced to send supplies their way with little additional cost. “Something dark lurks in the frozen marshes. I don’t like it.” She looked out to the Sea of Ghosts to the north. “Still. It’s a beautiful view.”

Behind her, Sojrath gro-Luzgan grunted his approval. “Then it’s decided. The main hall will go there…” he gestured to the plot of land, his hands turning the imaginary manor in his mind. “With a balcony on the second floor, looking out over the sea.”

“As you say, my Thane.” The orc turned back to his drafting table, favoring his left leg. It was a wound left to him by Alduin atop High Hrothgar, and never quite healed properly despite the magic and salves. Lydia watched him go; she’d followed him across the length of Skyrim, fought at his side to defeat the Imperial occupation of Solitude, battled vampires and quested for Auriel’s bow and finally crossing to the ashen hills of Solstheim, but in all their travels she had never seen him with such an interest in _real estate._ “I don’t understand why we’re here. You have homes in most of the towns in Skyrim. They _gave_ you a house in Raven Rock.”

“This one is different,” Sojrath replied, not even glancing up. “What’s an ‘apiary?’”

“It’s were farmers keep bees,” Lydia replied, with _and we are not farmers_ left unspoken.

“Could be useful,” Sojrath mused, making a note for himself. 

Lydia scowled at her Thane. Sojrath hadn’t been a young orc when they first met, and the trials of the past two years had worn on him. It wasn’t until the voyage to Solstheim that something changed in him, though. A Black Book rested on the drafting table, and she shivered at the sight of it. Sojrath never let the vile thing far from his sight, even though the idea of reading it again obviously terrified him. 

Still. Her Thane wanted a new home, and was apparently interested in taking up beekeeping. With all he had done for Skyrim and all of Tamriel, she could make that happen for him.

*

Sojrath hired on a steward, a Nord named Vladimar. Lydia swallowed her pride and allowed the man to perform tasks that were rightfully her responsibility. 

The Dragonborn had taken her to the woods, to cut lumber. “I think we should have horses, and for that we’ll need a stable,” he decided.

“A stable?” Lydia fought to keep the incredulity from her voice. “We’ve never needed a stable before or a…a homestead. What did you say when we first met? ‘We live on the road and under the stars?’” She shook her head. “You’ve done a great service to Skyrim my Thane, and no one would begrudge you your rest, but this smacks of complacency.”

She half-expected him to rage at her for that. A Redguard had challenged Sojrath’s courage once in Riften, an incident that destroyed the Bee and Barb, left three dead and Lydia and Sojrath permanently banned from the entire Hold. No outburst came from the orc, though. Sojrath merely held out his prized battle ax and said, “Everyone needs a home, Lydia. Cut down that tree.”

Lydia hefted the weapon and lined up her swing. It was daedric, and the tree’s trunk quickly splintered under the blows. Sojrath moved among the brush, plucking seeds from mountain flowers. “What do you think will happen to Skyrim, now that Ulfric has taken the throne?”

“The Empire will have some sort of reprisal,” Lydia answered. “The elves are plotting something, but Talos knows what. Watch yourself.” She laid her shoulder against the tree and shoved, breaking the last of the tree’s trunk and sending it crashing to the ground. “Long or short?”

“Short,” he answered. She took to hacking at the wood and he continued. “The Forsworn to the west are a concern, as are the scattered vampire covens. The Falmer still lurk underground, waiting for the unwary. What would you deal with first?”

Lydia frowned. Her Thane’s contemplative tone was bizarrely different than what she was used to. Sojrath rarely _thought_ about the problems he faced; whatever stood before him held the entirety of his attention, and Divines help any who interfered. “Well…” she shrugged. “With Lord Harkon dead, the vampires are broken…but parasites that they are, it’s only a matter of time before they snare more innocents. Best to stamp them out permanently before they recover.” She thought a moment more. “But we should also be on guard for Thalmor machinations. They are subtle, but if their subtleties are not rooted out early they will become much larger crises very quickly.” Lydia slammed the ax through the log. “All the more reason that we should be seeking out their plots, rather than picking flowers and chopping wood!”

Sojrath watched her impassively. Lydia searched his face for any hint of the bloodlust that had propelled him through a horde of draugr armed with nothing but his shattered armor and his ax, deep in Angarvunde. It was absent, replaced with tranquil concern. But there was something disconcerting about his eyes…

The orc turned away, but not before Lydia caught sight of tiny squiggles of blackness squirming in the whites of his eyes. “We’re not alone.” 

Lydia glanced out into the woods. Three bandits approached, radiating the stupid malice of people who had chosen to live in a cave because of the opportunities for violence their lives as outlaws provided them. Lydia wasn’t wearing armor, and wasn’t particularly worried. “Shall we welcome them to the homestead?” she asked, hefting the ax.

“I’ll take care of it,” Sojrath said, handing her the seeds he collected. “Wait here.”

“You can’t be-!”

“Wait. Here,” he repeated, and this time his voice was backed with steel. He strode away without as much as a dagger. 

“Has he lost his mind?” Lydia whispered, watching him approach the bandits. Every instinct demanded she follow him into danger, but his order was clear. The bandits moved to flank him, but stopped when he spoke. What he said was too low for her to hear, but it held their attention completely. He gestured to the house, to Lydia herself, and said a few more words. The bandits nodded, agreeing to _something,_ and turned away. Sojrath watched them go for a while before returning to Lydia. “What was that?”

“I explained who I am, and what this place is.” The orc accepted his seeds back and collected several logs under his arms. Lydia picked up the rest and followed him. “I explained what would happen to them and everyone they love if they ever so much as looked at the manor again.”

“That’s certainly one method,” Lydia replied, incredulous. “Or we could have just killed them and never had to worry about them again.”

“Those ones, yes. But what about the others? There are always others, and if they’re convinced that attacking the manor isn’t worth-while, we’ll save ourselves trouble later.”

“Before we went to Solstheim, we would have killed those three and then tracked down any ‘others’ and killed them too,” Lydia scowled.

Sojrath shrugged. “I’ve knowledge now I didn’t then.”

*

Over the next week, the manor began to come together. Workers from Morthal finished the main hall and began work on the kitchen, alchemy laboratory and bedrooms. Lydia had argued with Sojrath’s choices; they had hardly needed an expansive kitchen before and she certainly didn’t see a need for one now, especially if it took the place of the far more useful armory. The orc waved her concerns aside.

Lydia came to an understanding with Vladimar. He managed the manor and grounds, and didn’t interfere with Lydia’s duties to her Thane. That was how the Housecarl found herself in an overly-complicated kitchen, entirely unable to fathom how anyone could possibly use so many pots, pans and utensils to just make food.

She carried two bowls of stew out to the main hall, sliding one across to Sojrath. “Road soup,” she said. Beef, leeks and whatever herbs smelled right boiled together until they were properly mushy. No need for any ‘kitchen.’ “What do you have there?”

The orc kicked the large crate resting on the floor. “A delivery, from Eorlund Gray-Mane in Whiterun. I sent an entire dragon’s worth of scales and bones to him a month ago with a small fortune in Septims and told him to create the finest armor he could imagine. Take a look.”

Lydia pried the lid off to reveal a suit of armor nestled in a bed of straw. She hefted the helm. It was a solid piece, almost sculpted from dragonbone rather than forged. Her fingers traced the sweep of the horns rising up and back from above the ears. “It seems a fitting insult to the dragons.”

Sojrath nodded at that. “I’ve sent word to the College in Winterhold, asking for them to send one of their enchanters. By the time it’s finished, this armor will be almost invulnerable to blade and spell.”

“It’s exquisite,” she said.

“I’m glad you think so,” the orc said, supping from his bowl. “It’s yours.”

She was not so easily startled as to drop the helmet or any such overt display, but Lydia still took a moment to reply. “That’s quite a gift.”

“Staying alive is an exhausting business.” Sojrath drained the last of his soup. “Perhaps this armor will give you leave to think more about other concerns.”

“We’ll be ready for the Empire, when they find the courage to face us.”

Her Thane shook his head. “No. Not of battle and war.” He looked to Lydia for the first time, meeting her eyes. “Have you thought of taking a mate? A partner?”

This time Lydia did startle. “A _mate?_ ” She laughed aloud. “That’d be a sight. Maybe he and I could open a shop together? I can just see it now: me behind the counter wearing a dress, a gaggle of little ones clutching at my knees.”

“Perhaps that’s what a union is to the Nords. I wouldn’t know.” Sojrath shrugged. “Among the Orsimer, all must be prepared to fight. It’s our legacy as outcasts.”

“I need no man or woman to complete me, my Thane. I am a warrior.”

The orc nodded. “We have fought and bled together. Any who dare to question your skill would die by my hand for the affront. The victories over Alduin and the Empire are _our_ victories.” He paused, struggling to put his thoughts into words. “And yet…how empty are those victories without someone to share them? Glory is little comfort to a warrior alone in her heart.”

His somber voice gave her pause, and she stifled her amusement at the bizarre turn this conversation had taken. “There has been little time in my life for…attachments.”

“There is never enough time,” Sojrath agreed.

*

_Something_ awakened Lydia.

She lay still in her bed, trying to understand what she felt. The manor was silent and empty of intruders but all the same she sensed a presence worming through her perception, a twisted shadow moving just beyond the corners of her vision. Casting her sheets aside, Lydia rolled to her feet and took up her mace from its place against the wall. She padded silently down the hall, pushing in doors with the head of her mace. Sojrath’s bed was empty.

Lydia checked the rooms upstairs to no avail, before finally opening the door to the outside patio. Through the gloom of night she could just make out the orc sitting in one of the chairs by the balcony, staring out over the Sea of Ghosts. “My Thane?” she whispered.

“Come here, Lydia,” Sojrath replied. 

Lydia crept closer. “My Thane, there’s something twisted in the air…oh.” In his hands Sojrath clutched one of the Black Books recovered from Solstheim. Lydia’s lip curved in a sneer of distaste for the debased thing.

“You never asked what happened,” Sojrath intoned. “In Apocrypha.”

“You told me that you met Miraak in battle,” she replied. “That he fought well, but you bested him.”

“In the ancient times, Miraak pledged himself to Hermaeus Mora in exchange for the knowledge to dominate dragons.” Sojrath didn’t look to face her, staring out over the sea and stroking the cover of the book. “For thousands of years he served the daedric prince, and in that time he came to chafe under that yoke. He sought to escape Apocrypha to our world.”

“In Solstheim. You stopped him.”

“I did, that.” The orc nodded. “But to do so required some…concessions. Knowledge that only Hermaeus Mora could provide.” He looked to her now, and Lydia could see clearly what she had only glimpsed before: black blots shifting across his eyes.

“He ensnared you,” she breathed. 

Sojrath nodded. “Concessions were made. Yes. And now he calls me back to Apocrypha.”

“Let him call!” Lydia snapped. “He will find the both of us, you and I, ready to show him the mistake of crossing the Dragonborn.”

“You would raise arms against a daedric prince?”

“Yes!” Lydia exclaimed. “To protect you, yes!”

“And would you expect to live?”

Lydia raised her chin. “My survival is beside the point.”

“It’s not. Not to me.” Sojrath chuckled, his fingers tracing the bizarre emblem embossed into the book’s cover. “We never visited the Orc strongholds, did we?”

“I…no. No, we didn’t.”

Sojrath sighed. “I’m sorry for that. I would have liked for you to see them. Orc communities are…they are more like packs than Nord cities. Each stronghold is led by a single chieftain, and only he is permitted to father children.” Still wary of the Black Book in his lap, Lydia sat in the chair next to Sojrath’s. “I never had the opportunity to have a child of my own. But I like to think that if I would have had a daughter, she would have been like you.”

“Don’t go,” Lydia whispered. “There must be something we can do. I can go in your stead.”

“No.” Sojrath’s voice was firm. “You have nothing that Hermaeus Mora wants, and _you must not earn his attention._ Do you understand me?”

Duty warred within her: the duty to follow her Thane’s command, and her duty to defend him against all dangers. Finally, she spoke. “Yes, my Thane. I understand.”

“Good.” Sojrath looked down at the book apprehensively. “There is work yet to be done in Skyrim, and I leave it to you. I leave the manor to you, as well. A warrior needs a home.” 

“I will not rest so long as danger threatens,” Lydia vowed. 

“I know. Goodbye, Lydia.” Sojrath favored her with a wan smile. He opened the Black Book, and began to read from the first page. “’The eyes, once bleached by falling stars of utmost revelation, will forever see the faint insight drawn by the overwhelming question, as only the True Enquiry shapes the edge of thought. The rest is vulgar fiction, attempts to impose order on the consensus mantlings of an uncaring godhead…’”

Lydia flinched as the words on the page shifted and from the blackness of the ink thick tentacles emerged, twining around the Orc’s arms, chest and neck. His form glowed emerald with eldritch energy, and as the glow faded so did Sojrath and the book. 

Lydia sat alone with his empty chair for a long while, listening to Sojrath’s last words echo in the night’s air: “Live well.”


End file.
